


Witches Can Be Right, Giants Can Be Good

by mechaieh (ribbons)



Category: Political RPF - 20th-21st c.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-19
Updated: 2008-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:19:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1631210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbons/pseuds/mechaieh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rahm Emanuel has quite a bit to say to Kingsley Shacklebolt. The witnesses include Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, and a passel of dead fish. Warnings for unapologetic cussing, equally unapologetic EWE-ness, and established Harry/Draco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Witches Can Be Right, Giants Can Be Good

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to marginaliana for her fan-fucking-tastic speed-beta skillz. :-)
> 
> Written for Aja

 

 

It's been over ten years since the fall of Voldemort, and Draco Malfoy has become somewhat used to receiving unfriendly correspondence on a regular basis. It arrives via both owl and Royal Mail, and some of it is ritual harassment from his former classmates at Hogwarts: the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs aren't going to let him forget how he treated them all like hippogriff droppings, and the Slytherins resent how little they've benefited from the fact that he's Harry Potter's live-in boyfriend. 

He's also the target of delusion-filled harangues from women who somehow fancy that Harry would be theirs for the taking if Draco wasn't in the way. He almost welcomes those, though, because Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley get them too, even though Harry never dated Hermione, and he and Ginny were an item for maybe three months tops back when they were nineteen before they realised they were definitely Not Meant For Each Other. At any rate, getting together with the girls to make fun of their collective hate mail is, well, _fun_ , and it happens to help reassure Harry that being with Draco isn't the stupendously bad idea Harry keeps getting told it is. So do the evenings where the four of them get stewed on the homebrewed shochu Luna Lovegood periodically sends to them from Japan; it goes well with mocking the wildly speculative and laughably inaccurate "histories" of the War that have appeared to date. 

So life is pretty good, all things considered, and when the crate of dead bluegill shows up at their flat, minutes after they've arrived home from work, Draco is stumped: he can't think of any American Muggles he's been mean to lately, never mind an American Muggle wealthy enough to airship thirty pounds of decomposing fish to London.

"Phwoaarrr!" Harry exclaims, sticking his head out of their bedroom. "Did someone just crack a rotten Horntail egg?"

Draco ignores his boyfriend in favour of flinging some Floo powder into the fireplace and bellowing, "Hermione Granger!" When she looks up from her desk, he says, "Do we know a Rahm Emanuel?"

Hermione chirps, "I've been reading about him! He's about to become Chief of Staff for the next American President. He's quite a character--"

"So we have a problem. I can't think of any Potions that require rotted flatfish--"

"Oh, _dear_ ," Hermione says, rising out of her chair. "Stand back, I'm coming through." 

Harry's kneeling by the crate as Hermione hurtles out of the fireplace. As Draco helps her brush soot off her robes, she wrinkles her nose. "Morgana, that's foul."

"It's fish," Draco corrects her. "Dead chickens have a different stink."

"It's actually for your father," Harry says, waving the packing slip Draco hadn't read through. "Does _he_ know Mr. Emanuel?"

Draco furrows his brow. "He _has_ been spending a lot of time in the States this year, but he backed the team that lost."

"Bad habit of his, that," Harry mildly observes.

"Don't give me that glare," Draco snaps at Hermione. "Mother supported Hillary."

Hermione looks inordinately amused. "And were you your mum's boy this time too?"

Draco grimaces. "I stayed the hell out of it. Wizarding politics is plenty bad enough."

"It has its moments," a deep voice rumbles from the fireplace. Kingsley Shacklebolt gracefully steps into the room, wearing one of the tailored suits he favours when negotiating with Muggles. 

To a casual observer, he would look cool, calm, collected, and incredibly hot. Draco, Harry, and Hermione all know him pretty well by now, though, and while he does look calm, collected, and incredibly hot, they also recognize the almost imperceptible edge to his smile that indicates he's also extremely annoyed. 

Fortunately, it's not at them. Even before he spies the crate of dead bluegill, Kingsley irritably states, "Rahm Emanuel is what happens when a house-elf gets crossed with a Howler."

"From what I've heard," Harry says, "he's more like a Cornish pixie. Especially with all the blue--"

"House elf," Kingsley says firmly. "He genuinely thinks he's bloody serving society when he doesn't shut up."

Hermione looks prim. Harry looks at her and winces. Draco snickers. The fireplace coughs out Rahm Emanuel, who barrels into the room shouting, "KINGSLEY FUCKING SHACKLEBOLT, YOU WILL FUCKING HEED WHAT I SAY!"

"Oh my God," Hermione breathes. "Harry, he totally reminds me of what you were like fifth year."

"YOU FUCKING TOOL--"

"Ministers of Magic often are," Draco mutters.

"You only wish," Kingsley wearily says to Rahm. 

"THIS ISN'T A MOTHERFUCKING FAIRYTALE, YOU PUTZ!"

"What is he _on_ about?" Draco asks Harry.

Harry shrugs. "I want to find out what he's _on_. And then I'm going to make sure that George Weasley never, ever gets a hold of it."

"WE'VE GOT TO NAIL THEM IN THE NUTS WITH EVERYTHING WE'VE GOT--"

Draco cringes and turns to Kingsley. "I realise I'm about to sound like my father, but honestly, the riffraff you guys have been letting through--"

"WHO YOU CALLING RIFFRAFF, YOU BLEACHED RABBIT TURD?"

Hermione valiantly tries not to giggle, but an amused gurgle escapes from her lips. Harry winces again and flings a _Silencio_ at his lover before Draco even finishes baring his teeth. Draco gesticulates wildly at Rahm, irate that no one has magically gagged _him_ , even though the man is now saying things about Draco and Draco's father that no _Muggle_ would be expected to take lying down--

"I know it's totally not fair," Harry murmurs in Draco's ear, "but I have plans for us tonight, and you are _not_ going to ruin them by saying something that Kingsley or Hermione would have to hex you for."

Draco's rage subsides; his face is still flushed, but it's now with anticipation rather than fury. Kingsley flashes a grateful smile at Harry before turning back to the visitor from the States. "No can do, Mr. Emanuel," he states.

"FINE," the American spits back, clearly not fine with it at all. "WHEN THEY DECIDE TO COME FOR YOU, DON'T EXPECT ANY HELP FROM US." 

"Don't be petty," Kingsley growls, his patience strained to its limits. "We don't have enough Time Turners for every would-be do-gooder in Britain, let alone the rest of the world."

"HOW FUCKING PATHETIC IS THAT?" Rahm retorts. "YOU'VE HAD YEARS TO REBUILD YOUR INVENTORY. IT'S THE FUCKING TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY AND YOU'VE GOT A FUCKING SLAVE TRADE THE SIZE OF NEW FUCKING GODDAMN YORK.WHAT WILL IT TAKE FOR YOU SCHMUCKS TO STOP WHACKING OFF YOUR PUNY SCHLONGS INSTEAD OF DOING SOMETHING? GOD FORBID YOU ACTUALLY FUCKING TRY TO STOP IT."

"Suppose you mind your own knitting and leave us to ours." Kingsley's glare is steely. "You've more than enough to clean up on your side of the pond, lamentable labour practices included."

"WHICH IS WHY BARACK NEEDS THAT TIME-TURNER IN THE FIRST PLACE, YOU NADLESS CRETIN! HE NEEDS **AT LEAST** SEVENTY HOURS A DAY TO DO EVERYTHING EXPECTED OF HIM, AND **MY** JOB IS TO GET IT FOR HIM!"

It is at this point that Hermione places a hand on Rahm's arm, her eyes glittering. "Sir, might I interest you in escorting me to dinner? I believe we could have a _profitable_ discussion about our resources. I would be delighted to assist you with _any_ initiative to stop our countries' industries in trafficking--"

"Hermione," Kingsley says, warningly. 

Without hesitation, Rahm draws her hand through his arm. "It would be my pleasure," he smoothly says. "Perhaps I could interest _you_ in attending the ballet with me afterward?"

Hermione smiles like a cat that has discovered a pitcherful of cream. "By all means," she purrs. 

"Hermione," Harry ventures, apprehensively. 

Hermione smiles sweetly at both men, and Draco too. "It's been so long since I've met anyone willing to listen to me about house elves. Enjoy your _plans_ , gentlemen." 

Harry thinks he hears a crow of "LATER, FUCKTARDS!" as Rahm follows Hermione through the Floo, but he's not a hundred percent sure, because he's busy observing how Kingsley isn't losing his temper: after briefly, silently raising his eyes to the heavens, the Minister casts a Messenger Spell, alerting a pair of Unspeakables to Hermione's plans for the evening. He exchanges resigned looks with Harry, flashes an sympathetic smile at Draco, and Floos out. 

It is only then that Harry lifts the Silencio from Draco. The instant he can speak, Draco hauls in an enormous, righteously indignant breath -- and then lets it out without a single word as he sags against Harry.

Harry awkwardly strokes Draco's hair as he murmurs, "Ten Galleons says Hermione introduces him to Black Market Basil before the week's out."

Draco counters, "Ten Galleons says Hermione will take that... that Armani-clad pit bull back to _last week_ to visit with Baz."

"Huh. So you know about her unregistered Time Turner already."

"Of course. There was no way she could have produced all her results last month without one. Everyone needs at least a couple hours of sleep every couple days. Even shrill, workaholic, hyper-overachieving, uber-noble Gryffindors."

"She's not--" Harry pauses. "Uh. Crap. They're a perfect match, aren't they."

"Those plans you had for tonight?" Draco pushes Harry toward the bedroom. "Better enjoy them while we can. I guarantee we're going to be on round-the-clock call once Rahmbo and Granger start mowing down windmills."

Harry nods in rueful agreement -- there's no use pretending things will turn out otherwise -- but he can't resist adding, "At least it'll be for a good cause, don't you think?"

Draco knows Harry does this to him on purpose. He knows that Harry knows he doesn't disagree. He knows that Harry knows that he privately condones Hermione's hellbent highhandedness when it comes to circumventing bureaucracy. Harry knows that Draco approves of Hermione's good deeds because he's caught Draco helping her with them, and Harry knows that Draco would rather guzzle down a gallon of kneazle piss than to admit any of this out loud, ever.

Draco settles for saying, "Change isn't simple" as he sheds his robes. He doesn't miss Harry's brilliant, knowing grin in response -- for he knows that Harry understands that "not simple" is Slytherin for _absolutely fucking **on**_. 

 


End file.
